Billville

 

There are a few places that should have been named Billville. 

Because Bill either grew up there, went to school there, worked there, or claimed any of those there's.  He left his make-a-difference, his make-a-mark, his make-a-name.  And anyone who visits or passes through Billville thinks of Bill. 

Because he knew the locals’ hangs, the back roads, the family lore.  He knew the best burger, the trusted mechanic, the 6th grade teacher.  He should be the driver so the driver knows the best route.  He should be the decider so the decider knows the best choice.  In Billville, all things naturally defer to Bill. 

Because Bill loved his places, his people, his food.  He loved his streets, his sails, his songs.  Bill lit up Billville and it lit up him. 

Bill’s wife remembers Billvilles and finds them still full of Bill.

Because he’s still in the orchards, the levees, the surf.  He’s still in front of the doughnut case, the ammo counter, the lumber stash.  He still knows him and them and it. 

She can’t seem to arrive in Billville, stay in Billville, leave Billville without thinking and talking and thinking and talking about Bill.  Because Billville is still full of Bill.  And she is still full of Bill.